I watch as she slides into the passenger seat of my truck and shakes snow from her hair, and then call Shane.
“It was Tessa Pope in the ditch. She’s okay, but her car’s going to need to be pulled out after this storm is over.”
“Yes, Sir. Got it.”
The call disconnects and I climb in my truck. For a second, neither Tessa or I say anything to one another. The storm does all the talking—wind whistling off the water, snow hissing against the glass.
Then Tessa looks at me, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes bright with mischief. “So, you gonna escort me home like old times, Chief?”
“Not a chance, Pope,” I say, glancing at the road ahead. “Officially off duty. And even if I wasn’t, most of the roads are closed, and the ones that aren’t probably should be. . You’d never make it down Snowberry Lane. You would know that if you had been paying attention to all the alerts.”
She tilts her head, and there’s a teasing spark in her voice when she speaks. “So what—you’re kidnapping me now?”
“Call it protective custody.”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. “I see the power’s gone to your head.”
“Someone’s got to keep you in line.”
“Good luck with that,” she says, settling back against the seat. “I’ve been causing you trouble since I was in school, remember?”
I groan. “Tessa, how could I forget?”
The prank at the lighthouse. The sparkler incident at the 4th of July parade.
“Does this mean we’re going back to your place?” she asks as I turn my truck without getting stuck,or rolling us into the ditch next to her car.
Thank goodness this thing is made with winter in mind.
“Until the plows catch up, yeah.”
Her brows lift, and she lets out a mock gasp. “Chief Hale, bringing a woman home on the first snowstorm of the season. What will the townspeople say?”
God help me. This woman is going to be the death of me.
“They’ll say you should have listened when Mayor Emerson said the roads were getting bad and issued a travel advisory.”
Ignoring me, she presses a hand to the window, watching the lighthouse fade behind us. “I forgot how beautiful it is out here,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, eyes on the driveway that’s completely buried under a blanket of white. “When you’re not stuck in a snowbank.”
As we near my place, I try to look at it from her point of view. Pride swells in my chest. The cabin looks like something out of a postcard—smoke curling from the chimney, windows glowing amber through the storm.
Tessa whistles under her breath. “Well, this is disgustingly charming.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say, killing the engine and jumping out into the snow.
She flashes me a grin as I open her door, brushing past as snowflakes cling to her lashes.
And just like that, my quiet night is gone—replaced with the wild, unpredictable energy that always seems to follow Tessa Pope wherever she goes.
She beats me to the porch. The wind whips at her scarf until she laughs, breath visible in the dim light spilling from the windows while she waits for me to unlock the door.
I push the door open, heat rolling out to meet us—everything familiar and calm. Tessa steps inside, stamping snow from her boots and onto my rug. Her eyes roam the space—fire crackling in the stone hearth, shelves lined with books and old photographs, the heavy wool blanket draped over the back of the leather couch.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “It’s… cozy. In a rugged, mountain-man sort of way.”
“Mountain-man?” I ask as I hang my coat back on the hook.
